November 1st, 1985
"Joking, of course," Rorschach said simply before he turned from the group and began to make his way towards the door.
Nite Owl took a step after him. "Rorschach?" Rorschach didn't stop. "Rorschach, Wait! Where are you going? This is too big to be hard-assed about! We have to compromise…"
"No," Rorschach bit out harshly cutting off Nite Owl's words; he still didn't stop. "Not even in the face of Armageddon." He shoved open the door. "Never compromise."
As he left his mind began to formulate what he would do once he returned to America. He hadn't expected to survive the encounter with Veidt but now that he had he wasn't going to let him get away with all the wrong he'd done. He knew his journal would've made it to the New Frontiersman by now and it would be best to go there to make sure it was published. Wondered if the building was still standing. What if it wasn't? Then that would mean that his journal would be destroyed along with the only chance that the world had. He'd have to tell someone. Tell who? Who'd believe him anyway? She would. He couldn't breathe for a moment when he thought of her and instantly shoved her memory from his mind. It was the end of the world; there was no room for thoughts of her, not even fleeting ones. He was a wanted criminal; no one would listen to what he had to say. And even if he could make them listen who would believe that Veidt, the world's smartest gentlemen, had destroyed the world. His only hope of bringing Veidt to justice was to make sure that his journal had reached the New Frontiersman and got published. That he could do. If they were still standing he would find them and make sure that the world knew. Then the question returned; what if it wasn't? Proof. He'd need proof if he was going to get anyone to believe him. Veidt's tower held all the proof he needed. Was the tower still standing? He had no idea what the extent of the damage was. He knew that millions of people had died tonight. Was she one of them? Thoughts of her broke through to his mind again and this time he found himself unable to fight them.
He wondered where she had been the moment that the world had truly ended. Had she been asleep in her bed like she should have been and died peacefully? Or had she been awake and waiting for him and seen death coming? He hated the idea of the second one, and it frustrated him greatly to hate it. Why did it matter? She was just another girl, just another whore. No, no she wasn't. She wasn't naïve and fluttery like a girl, she was smart and cunning and could see the world for what it really was; she would never kiss anyone she didn't care for and had only ever had sex once in her 36 year long life and he was sure she had died loving the same man. She was a good woman.
He remembered her very vividly. She was both very beautiful and very plain. Her hair had never been colored; she had left it the same dark blonde hair all her life. She never wore perfume. She always smelled of lavender soap and sometimes underlying that had been the scent of paint when she had surrounded herself with her art. But she had always been clean. She never wore makeup like a painted whore. She had a place in her heart for almost everyone but was never once blinded to what people could really be. She was a good woman. Was…
He suddenly felt his eyes begin to water. Tears? He hadn't cried since he was little and now suddenly it seemed like they wouldn't stop. And he knew why. Everything was in vain. Going back to America was a hopeless endeavor. He should've been able to return and just continue destroying the evils of the world like usual. He should've been strong enough to hold in any tears he may have felt like crying. But he wasn't. America didn't need him; America didn't want him. He couldn't remember how many times he had saved people only to have them scream at the sight of him. He was a wanted criminal. And now everyone had seen Walter's face. If he went back he knew he'd have to go into hiding, something he just couldn't do. But she had needed him; she had wanted him. Now, there was nothing left for him to go back to.
He knew that no matter how it had happened, she had died that night. That good woman. His good woman. He remembered the last time he had seen her. She had been standing on her balcony staring helplessly at the sky as rain poured down her pale face, mingling with the tears she wasn't strong enough to hold onto. She was drenched head to toe and yet she had stood there and waited. She had waited for him, and though he had seen her, he never came back. Because he didn't know. He didn't know back then that her love wasn't as one-sided as he thought it was.
At the time he had only known disappointment and confusion. He had been furious with himself. Furious with her. It took the end of the world for him to realize what his feelings were. And now he would never be able to tell her. Tell her that he had loved her too. Now he knew the answer to so many things. Why women stayed with men who beat them. Why men turned a blind eye to their wives sexual encounters with other men. He had seen it so many times while doing 'justice', the victims begging him to spare their attacker's lives. Now he knew why. Because love was stupid like that. He knew that now. Back then he didn't know that the reason he avoided her like the plague was because he loved her. He didn't know. If he had, maybe things would've been different now. Just maybe. But he scoffed. He didn't live in a world of maybes. Everything was done now. Everything was in vain. The world was dead. She was dead. All that was left was him.
"Where are you going?," came a deep neutral voice snapping Rorschach out of his daze and stopping him in his tracks.
Maybe he wouldn't be left for long.
"Back to owlship. Back to America. Evil must be punished. People must be told." Even as he reached for the handle of Dan's hoverbike he knew that wasn't the truth anymore. He had known that he would die here. But now he wanted to. Everything was in vain. He had been killing in the name of good for years and was a villain and now Veidt murders millions and he's a hero. He'd go home and be hunted by the police. No, he couldn't go home. He'd heard somewhere that 'home is where the heart is'. If that was true then his heart belonged in death with hers. Still, he hoped that his journal had made it safely to the New Frontiersmen. At least then, even after death, he'd still win. He'd have avenged her. His written words could bring Veidt's tainted empire crumbling down.
"Rorschach," Manhattan warned and he pointed his hand towards him in a threatening gesture. "You know I can't let you do that."
Rorschach grunted and it almost came out a laugh. Of course. All that mattered now was this 'new world', it didn't matter to anyone what he had lost for it to be made. "Of course. Must protect Veidt's new utopia. One more body amongst foundations makes little difference." Just like her body lying dead had meant nothing to any of them. An impossibly good woman wasted for a sanctuary drowned in blood. Rorschach started to tear his face away in pure frustration. "Well? What are you waiting for?" He couldn't take it anymore. The endlessness of it all, the hopelessness. Everything was in vain. "Do it," he commanded as he pulled the last bit of his face free of his mask.
"Rorschach…" Manhattan's voice was filled with a sorrow that felt like an insult to him. He knew that Manhattan didn't care that he'd just lost everything. He only wished that he'd realized sooner that she was everything. That he could return the love she had promised him. Now all he could do was give up. He could tell by looking at Manhattan that he could see her in his eyes. He knew that all of his memories of her played through his mind and projected through his eyes like a spiraling movie. He couldn't stop it, but he wouldn't have Manhattan scrutinizing her memory either. It was precious to him now, and it was his and his alone.
"Do it!" he screamed as the tears fell relentlessly down his face.
The end was always nigh before this. But as his blood stained the snow at Manhattan's feet the world had truly ended for one woman crying safely in the holed remains of New York.